Wednesday, May 11, 2016

*****From The Archives Of The International Labor Defense (ILD)-1925-1946)-In Defense Of Political Prisoners

*****From The Archives  Of The International Labor Defense (ILD)-1925-1946)-In Defense Of Political Prisoners
Click below to link to an introduction to the work of the ILD-

https://www.marxists.org/history/usa/eam/other/ild/ild.html

Click below to link to New York Public Library materials on ILD

http://archives.nypl.org/scm/20647

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

Introducing The Committee For International Labor Defense

Mission Statement

The Committee for International Labor Defense (CILD) is a legal and political defense organization working on behalf of the international working class and oppressed minorities providing aid and solidarity in legal cases. We stand today in the traditions of the working-class defense policies of the International Labor Defense (ILD) 1925-1946, the defense arm of the American Communist Party which won its authority as a defense organization in cases like Sacco and Vanzetti, the Scottsboro Boys, defense of Black Sharecropper’ Union and Birmingham steelworkers union efforts in the South in the 1930s and 1940s, and garnering support in the United States for the Republican side in the Spanish Civil War. 

The ILD takes a side. In the struggles of working people to defend their unions and independent political organizations and to organize themselves we stand in solidarity against their exploiters. In the struggles of the oppressed and other socially marginalized peoples to defend their communities and to organize themselves we stand in solidarity with their efforts against their oppressors.  While favoring all possible legal proceedings for the cases we support, we recognize that the courts, prisons and police exist to maintain the ruling class’ dominance over all others. To paraphrase one of the founding members of the original ILD said “we place 100% of our faith in the power of the masses to mobilize to defend their own and zero faith, none, in the ‘justice’ of the courts or other tribunals.”

As we take the side of working people and oppressed minorities we also strive to be anti-sectarian. We will, according to our abilities, critically but unconditionally support movements and defend cases of organizations or individuals with whose political views we do not necessarily agree. We defend, to paraphrase the original statement of purpose of the old ILD, “any member of the workers and oppressed movement, regardless of their views, who has suffered persecution by the capitalist courts and other coercive institutions because of their activities or their opinions.” As the old labor slogan goes-“an injury to one is an injury to all.”


In the long arc, the now fifty years long arc of Sam Lowell’s left-wing political activism, the question of the plight of political prisoners, class-war prisoners to distinguish them from death squad Nazis and thugs and the commonality of other criminals has always played a central role in his work. Part of this was out of necessity in the old days when the American government was whipping away drafter resisters for their righteous opposition to the Vietnam War then raging and threatening to take a whole generation down with it both soldiers and civilians, military resisters who once a critical mass of soldiers started coming back and telling the real story of the war became more prevalent as the American Army was in near mutiny before the thing got closed down by the heroic Vietnamese resistance fighters, the civilly disobedient from little old ladies in tennis sneakers, Quakers, Shakers and later radicals and reds, rowdy according to them anti-war protesters, Black Panthers, at least the ones they did not try to just outright kill in their beds like Fred Hampton and Mark Clark or frame up almost to death like Geronimo Pratt (when he was going by that name before his conversion to a Muslim name he could not remember) or anybody else who got in their way when they pulled the hammer down and began the long “night of the long knives” that we have been subject to ever since without any apparent end in sight.

Since then through the vagaries of whatever small struggles he and what he calls the “remnant,” those who still hold the torch seeking the “newer world” and those too few who have joined those old new leftists political prisoner work has been the one constant when other struggles have failed like the now endless wars of the American government or situations that have been resolved at least partially like the struggle against apartheid in South Africa.

(Sam by the way has this very big thing about not calling the government “our government” ever since those days, those days when his best friend from high school, Jeff Mullins, was killed in Vietnam and in letters home begged Sam to tell a candid world what the hell was going on over there and he saw what the hell it was doing to young kids, kids out of high school just like him making them nothing but animals and so unless you want, and I don’t, a ration of grief we will stick with his designation.)

So Sam Lowell in his time has defended, has tried to publicize the plight of political prisoners as they have come up starting back in the day with the various anti-war protestors rounded up on May Day, 1971 (including himself), the Panthers and other black nationalists when they were under the gun of the American government, the victims of the coup in Chile in 1973, the aforementioned anti-apartied fighters led by the later Nelson Mandela in South Africa, the British coal-miners in the 1980s, many anti-death penalty struggles including the Mumia Abu Jamal (now serving a “living death” life without parole sentence) Troy Davis (executed by the state of Georgia in 2011)cases (and lately the case of the surviving member of the Boston Marathon bombings now under death sentence when he stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the Federal Courthouse in Boston down by the waterfront with Catholic Workers and Veterans for Peace but not anybody from Amnesty International or Massachusetts Committee Against the Death Penalty), and lots of others. All done, whether Sam was conscience of it at the time or not under the old slogan from the Wobblie days (Industrial Workers of the World, IWW)-“an injury to one is an injury to all.”

Lately Sam has been thinking, as he has reduced his law practice work, let others run the day to day operations of his small practice down in Carver about thirty miles from Boston, about that slogan, about the history of that idea. On the face of it the proposition makes total sense but what Sam was looking at was how that proposition was made concrete at least since the high holy hell days when the Wobblies needed all the defense they could muster against the bosses and their state. Now Sam, and you need to know this about him as well, has some method to his madness when he is thinking along such lines and this is the case here as well. Back in August of 2015 he had been invited to a planning meeting of an ad hoc group of Boston left-wing political activists who were interested in setting up a Committee for International Labor Defense (CILD). That name was not accidentally picked since what the group was trying to do was revive the traditions of the International Labor Defense (ILD) which been set up under the aegis of the American Communist Party in 1925 to deal organizationally with the continuing struggle for freedom for left-wing and labor militants under ban from the American government by Jim Cannon, Bill Haywood and others. That organization in turn had been affiliated with the International Red Aid which had previously been set up by the Communist International shortly after its own establishment in 1919.

Sam’s first reaction to the invitation and afterward thinking about the meeting which he had attended that August was that you cannot go home again, that whatever virtues the old ILD had any they were many especially in the 1920s and 1930s well before the operation went out of business in1946, that was over and done with. Then one night he began to think about that “traditions” part, about what the ILD had actually done in its best days. Back then, back in the 1920s when it all started the Wobblies had been decimated by the American government in its vendetta against that organization for its opposition to the First World War and a goodly number were still languishing in jail. Bill Haywood, a Wobblie founder, contacted Jim Cannon then a big wheel in the leadership of the CP and former Wobblie himself about setting up a non-sectarian pro-labor, political prisoner defense group since despite the low level of struggle then the CP was the only organization with the political, financial and legal resources to put together an effective organization. The ILD first won its spurs as a labor defense organization in the unsuccessful fight to save the framed anarchists Sacco and Vanzetti who were executed by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts in 1927. The organization was critical in the 1930s in saving the lives of the Scottsboro boys, nine young black men who were accused of raping two white women and who were being railroaded to death row by the state of Alabama. All through the 1930s the ILD helped out labor militants in nasty strike actions and other social struggles like support for the Spanish Republican.

Sam had to admit that in its heyday the ILD did very good work and it would not be disrespectful to try to try to resurrect the traditions of such an organization. But know this about Sam as well he is a devout student of history  so he has to dig into the archives and find material that might be helpful in working through the logistics of “an injury ot one is an injury to all.” Hence this archival piece.                        





                      

Solitary confinement is ‘no touch’ torture: Chelsea Manning in new op-ed-Pardon Chelsea Manning Now!

Solitary confinement is ‘no touch’ torture: Chelsea Manning in new op-ed

guardian2


Solitary confinement is ‘no touch’ torture, and it must be abolished
I spent about nine months in an isolated cell behind a one-way mirror. It was cruel, degrading and inhumane
May 2, 2016 by Chelsea E Manning
solitary_050216
‘For 17 hours a day, I sat directly in front of at least two Marine Corps guards seated behind a one-way mirror. I was not allowed to lay down. I was not allowed to lean my back against the cell wall.’ Photograph: Ed Thomas
Shortly after arriving at a makeshift military jail, at Camp Arifjan, Kuwait, in May 2010, I was placed into the black hole of solitary confinement for the first time. Within two weeks, I was contemplating suicide.
After a month on suicide watch, I was transferred back to US, to a tiny 6 x 8ft (roughly 2 x 2.5 meter) cell in a place that will haunt me for the rest of my life: the US Marine Corps Brig in Quantico, Virginia. I was held there for roughly nine months as a “prevention of injury” prisoner, a designation the Marine Corps and the Navy used to place me in highly restrictive solitary conditions without a psychiatrist’s approval.
For 17 hours a day, I sat directly in front of at least two Marine Corps guards seated behind a one-way mirror. I was not allowed to lay down. I was not allowed to lean my back against the cell wall. I was not allowed to exercise. Sometimes, to keep from going crazy, I would stand up, walk around, or dance, as “dancing” was not considered exercise by the Marine Corps.
To pass the time, I counted the hundreds of holes between the steel bars in a grid pattern at the front of my empty cell. My eyes traced the gaps between the bricks on the wall. I looked at the rough patterns and stains on the concrete floor – including one that looked like a caricature grey alien, with large black eyes and no mouth, that was popular in the 1990s. I could hear the “drip drop drip” of a leaky pipe somewhere down the hall. I listened to the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights.
For brief periods, every other day or so, I was escorted by a team of at least three guards to an empty basketball court-sized area. There, I was shackled and walked around in circles or figure-eights for 20 minutes. I was not allowed to stand still, otherwise they would take me back to my cell.
I was only allowed a couple of hours of visitation each month to see my friends, family and lawyers, through a thick glass partition in a tiny 4 x 6ft room. My hands and feet were shackled the entire time. Federal agents installed recording equipment specifically to monitor my conversations, except with my lawyers.
The United Nations special rapporteur on torture, Juan Mendez, condemned my treatment as “cruel, inhuman and degrading treatment”, describing “the excessive and prolonged isolation” I was placed under for that period of time. However, he didn’t stop there. In a preface to the 2014 Spanish edition of the Sourcebook on Solitary Confinement, written by Méndez he strongly recommends against any use of solitary confinement beyond 15 days.
As Mendez explains:
Prolonged solitary confinement raises special concerns, because the risk of grave and irreparable harm to the detained person increases with the length of isolation and the uncertainty regarding its duration. In my public declarations on this theme, I have defined prolonged solitary confinement as any period in excess of 15 days. This definition reflects the fact that most of the scientific literature shows that, after 15 days, certain changes in brain functions occur and the harmful psychological effects of isolation can become irreversible.
Unfortunately, conditions similar to the ones I experienced in 2010-11 are hardly unusual for the estimated 80,000 to 100,000 inmates held in these conditions across the US every day.
In the time since my confinement at Quantico, public awareness of solitary confinement has improved by orders of magnitude. People all across the political spectrum – including some who have never been in solitary or known anyone who has – are now beginning to question whether this practice is a moral and ethical one. In June 2015, US supreme court justice Anthony Kennedy called the prison system “overlooked” and “misunderstood”, stating that he welcomes a case that would allow the court to review whether or not solitary confinement is cruel and unusual under the US constitution.
The evidence is overwhelming that it should be deemed as such: solitary confinement in the US is arbitrary, abused and unnecessary in many situations. It is cruel, degrading and inhumane, and is effectively a “no touch” torture. We should end the practice quickly and completely.

Help us provide support to Chelsea in prison, maximize her voice in the media, continue public education and build a powerful movement for presidential pardon.

Please donate today!

Chelsea honored with Whistleblowing Prize-Free Chelsea Manning Now!

Chelsea honored with Whistleblowing Prize

May 10, 2016 by the Chelsea Manning Support Network
Aaron Kirkhouse accepts the Blueprint Enduring Impact Whistleblowing Prize on behalf of Chelsea Manning, May 9 2016
Aaron Kirkhouse accepts the Blueprint Enduring Impact Whistleblowing Prize on behalf of Chelsea Manning, May 9 2016
On Monday May 9th, Chelsea Manning was honored for her heroic actions at a London ceremony hosted by Blueprint for Free Speech, a non-profit dedicated to supporting freedom of expression for all individuals and seeking improved government transparency.
Chelsea received this year’s Blueprint Enduring Impact Whistleblowing Prize along with fellow whistleblowers John Kiriakou and Dr. Raj Mattu.
The honor included a cash prize of $7,200; Chelsea confirmed to a Support Network representative that she is grateful she’ll be able to use these funds toward her forthcoming appeal legal fees.
“Whistleblowing is the right to dissent from wrongdoing,” said writer and academic Suelette Dreyfus, one of the three judges who awarded the prizes. “We are proud to publicly acknowledge the bravery of these tremendous people, who have endured persecution and great personal sacrifice because they chose to reveal wrongdoing and corruption in the public interest.”
Personal friend Aaron Kirkhouse accepted the award and read Chelsea’s prepared speech on her behalf:
Good evening from sunny Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.
I wish I could be there to accept this award in person, but since I cannot, I am delighted to have Aaron Kirkhouse accept it on my behalf.
As you know, I am held in an American military prison with only a small library and without access to the internet. In this time of rapid technological advances in social networking and the machine learning age, it’s quite an odd predicament to find myself in.
Today, when once obscure online refrains are now finding their way into the global lexicon — “pics or it didn’t happen” — it’s easy to feel disconnected from a world exponentially intertwined and dependent on technology.
As a military prisoner, my public persona is carefully controlled and enforced. Any interviews or statements that I make — such as this one — must be written or dictated through someone else who types it up on my behalf. I am not allowed to be recorded over the telephone, do any video interviews, or have any pictures taken — with the exception of the occasional grainy mug shot. For those living in my situation, it’s easy to start feeling invisible — left behind and dismissed by the rest of a fast-paced society.
Despite these obstacles, I know I need to keep going. It is important to stay vocal. To stay creative. Active. Motivated. To keep fighting.
I keep fighting to survive and thrive. I am fighting my court-martial conviction and sentence before a military appeals court, starting this month. I am fighting to make the full investigation by the FBI public. I am fighting to grow my hair beyond the two inch male standards by the U.S. military.
I keep fighting to warn the world of the dangerous trend in which the only information you can access is the kind that someone with money or power wants you to see.
And, I keep fighting to let people know that they too can create change. By staying informed and educated, anyone can make a difference. You have the ability to fight for a better world for everyone — even for the most desperate, those at the bottom of the social ladder, refugees from conflict, queer and trans individuals, prisoners, and those born into poverty.
Thank you all so very much for your support over the years, and thank you to Lady Hollick, Mr. Davis, and Dr. Dreyfus for selecting me to be the first person to receive this award. It is truly an an amazing treat. I’m honored that my voice continues to be heard. Thank you for all for listening and choosing to fight alongside me. And of course, thank you to Aaron Kirkhouse for accepting this award for me.
I am grateful to you all — for being here tonight, and being there for me tomorrow. Think what we might accomplish if we do one thing — perhaps a grand undertaking or even what may seem to be a tiny, insignificant gesture — each day with the simple goal of making the world a better place.
Good night everyone =)
Blueprint specifies the award is, “specifically for a whistleblower whose revelations have had an enduring impact across a longer period of time. The intent is to highlight that some acts of whislteblowing have a profound impact across eras of time, not just geography. The whistleblower’s revelations may for example cause a longer-term shirt in public thought or awareness.”
The 2016 judges panel was comprised of Lady Hollick OBE, investigative journalists Mark Davis and Dr Suelette Dreyfus.

Help us provide support to Chelsea in prison, maximize her voice in the media, continue public education and build a powerful movement for presidential pardon.

Please donate today!

Tuesday, May 10, 2016

In Honor Of May Day 2016-From The American Left History Blog Archives-All Out On May Day 2012: A Day Of International Working



In Honor Of May Day 2016-From The American Left History Blog Archives-All Out On May Day 2012: A Day Of International Working Class Solidarity Actions- An Open Letter To The Working People Of Boston From A Fellow Worker

 

 

All Out For May 1st-International Workers Day 2012!

Why Working People Need To Show Their Power On May Day 2012

Wage cuts, long work hours, steep consumer price rises, unemployment, small or no pensions, little or no paid vacation time, plenty of poor and inadequate housing, homelessness, and wide-spread sicknesses as a result of a poor medical system or no health insurance. I will stop there although I could go on and on. Sounds familiar though, sounds like your situation or that of someone you know, right?

Words, or words like them, are taken daily from today’s global headlines. But these were also similar to the conditions our forebears faced in America back in the 1880s when this same vicious ruling class was called, and rightly so, “the robber barons,” and threatened, as one of their kind, Jay Gould, stated in a fit of candor, “to hire one half of the working class to kill the other half,” so that they could maintain their luxury in peace. That too has not changed.

What did change then is that our forebears fought back, fought back long and hard, starting with the fight connected with the heroic Haymarket Martyrs in 1886 for the eight-hour day symbolized each year by a May Day celebration of working class power. We need to reassert that claim. This May Day let us revive that tradition as we individually act around our separate grievances and strike, strike like the furies, collectively against the robber barons of the 21st century.

No question over the past several years (really decades but now it is just more public and right in our face) American working people have taken it on the chin, taken it on the chin in every possible way. Start off with massive job losses, heavy job losses in the service and manufacturing sectors (and jobs that are not coming back except as “race to the bottom” low wage, two-tier jobs dividing younger workers from older workers like at General Electric or the auto plants). Move on to paying for the seemingly never-ending bail–out of banks, other financial institutions and corporations “too big to fail,” home foreclosures and those “under water,” effective tax increases (since the rich refuse to pay, in some cases literally paying nothing, we pay). And finish up with mountains of consumer debt for everything from modern necessities to just daily get-bys, and college student loan debt as a life-time deadweight around the neck of the kids there is little to glow about in the harsh light of the “American Dream.”

Add to that the double (and triple) troubles facing immigrants, racial and ethnic minorities, and many women and the grievances voiced long ago in the Declaration of Independence seem like just so much whining. In short, it is not secret that working people have faced, are facing and, apparently, will continue to face an erosion of their material well-being for the foreseeable future something not seen by most people since the 1930s Great Depression, the time of our grandparents (or, for some of us, great-grandparents).

That is this condition will continue unless we take some lessons from those same 1930s and struggle, struggle like hell, against the ruling class that seems to have all the card decks stacked against us. Struggle like they did in places like Minneapolis, San Francisco, Toledo, Flint, and Detroit. Those labor-centered struggles demonstrated the social power of working people to hit the “economic royalists” (the name coined for the ruling class of that day by their front-man Franklin Delano Roosevelt, FDR) to shut the bosses down where it hurts- in their pocketbooks and property.

The bosses will let us rant all day, will gladly take (and throw away) all our petitions, will let us use their “free-speech” parks (up to a point as we have found out via the Occupy movement), and curse them to eternity as long as we don’t touch their production, “perks,” and profits. Moreover an inspired fight like the actions proposed for this May Day 2012 can help new generations of working people, organized, unorganized, unemployed, homeless, houseless, and just plain desperate, help themselves to get out from under. All Out On May Day 2012.

I have listed some of the problems we face now to some of our demand that should be raised every day, not just May Day. See if you agree and if you do take to the streets on May Day with us. We demand:

 

*Hands Off Our Public Worker Unions! No More Wisconsins! Hands Off All Our Unions!

* Give the unemployed work! Billions for public works projects to fix America’s broken infrastructure (bridges, roads, sewer and water systems, etc.)!

*End the endless wars- Troops And Mercenaries Out Of Afghanistan (and Iraq)!-U.S Hands Off Iran! Hands Off The World!

* Full citizenship rights for all those who made it here no matter how they got here!

* A drastic increase in the minimum wage and big wage increases for all workers!

* A moratorium on home foreclosures! No evictions!

* A moratorium on student loan debt! Free, quality higher education for all! Create 100, 200, many publicly-supported Harvards!

*No increases in public transportation fares! No transportation worker lay-offs! For free quality public transportation!

To order to flex our collective bottom up power on May 1, 2012 we will be organizing a wide-ranging series of mass collective participatory actions:

*We will be organizing within our unions- or informal workplace organizations where there is no union - a one-day strike around some, or all, of the above-mentioned demands.

*We will be organizing at workplaces where a strike is not possible for workers to call in sick, or take a personal day, as part of a coordinated “sick-out”.

*We will be organizing students from kindergarten to graduate school and the off-hand left-wing think tank to walk-out of their schools (or not show up in the first place), set up campus picket lines, and to rally at a central location.

*We will be calling in our communities for a mass consumer boycott, and with local business support where possible, refuse to make purchases on that day.

All out on May Day 2012.

 

*************

 

It was still raining, raining hard, when old-time Cambridge radical and political organizer Frank Jackman got to the underground parking facility at the corner of Franklin and Congress Streets near the State Street Bank at about 7:00 AM on May Day 2012. The reason why Frank was at that locale at that time was that as one who had helped organize the May Day protests that year he had volunteered to bring the various materials, signs, sound equipment, food and such that would be needed by the gathering troops that day. Since he was one of the few organizers or supporters who had an automobile large enough to fit all the materials in he was the natural choice. He had gotten up a couple of hours earlier to make sure the materials were packed and ready to move.

 

As Frank walked up the stairs to start to walk the couple of blocks from the garage to the bank he thought about the reasoning behind the organizing committee’s agreement that the State Street Bank and its nefarious doings in the financial crisis of 2008 should be highlighted by the protest actions that day. The group had spent some time and energy at its weekly meetings discussing the best possible target and the one that would draw the most media attention to what the Occupy Wall Street movement was calling for that day. Actions to stop business as usual on the international workers holiday. The idea this day in Boston was to attempt by main force to block off the entire bank and then court probable arrest if necessary in order to keep the bank closed for as long  as possible. Realistically Frank thought the site could be held for a couple of hours although all their leaflets, flyers, and on-line networking materials stated the times to be 7:00 AM to noon.   

 

Frank had been a little leery about the project especially when a couple of black and red anarchists wanted to chain themselves to the main door of the bank as some symbolic act but the overall scheme sounded fair enough. Such actions, such shutdowns, had successfully occurred before and had had a good media effect. Frank, however, was not naïve enough at his age to think they could hold out for a long period. As a veteran of the May Day action down in Washington, D.C. in 1971 when they tried to shut down the entire government and took nothing but thousands of arrests for their efforts he was always cautious in his expectations for any given action although the hoopla over this General Strike call had made him more optimistic. Still to think that they could hold the bank with its many entrances against a strong police presence for long with the thousand or so people who had signed up on one of the social networking sites to put their bodies on the line gave him pause. As he finally entered the street level Frank did take a certain pride that the organizing committee had created some buzz around the General Strike idea they had been harping on all spring unlike the tepid responses on several previous May Day actions.  

 

As Frank put up his umbrella to walk that couple of blocks to get some help with the materials in his car another deluge of rain hit him, a rain that continued on until he reached the planned meeting point on the corner of Franklin and Congress. As he approached the area he was delighted to see several now well-known media vans ready to film the action. He was however a little suspicious that there was not a large open police presence as he arrived at his destination. He figured that, as on other occasions in Boston, the main force was being held in reserve and in the ready in some of the back streets. To his greater surprise at a few minutes after seven he counted only fifteen people ready to rally at that meeting point. That number would swell to no more than fifty over the next two or three hours that they held forth there. And as the rains continued throughout the morning Frank was certainly disheartened by the turn-out. They held an impromptu rally and march through some streets for effect but with no media coverage since all those glorious vans had taken off before 8:00 AM for as one reporter said “real news” it flagged considerable. Frank Jackman, an old-time political organizer from the school where you actually physically gathered people to plan and participant in actions, had just gotten his first taste of the limits of “social network” organizing in America. 

In Honor Of May Day 2016-From The American Left History Blog Archives-All Out On May Day 2012: A Day Of International Working


In Honor Of May Day 2016-From The American Left History Blog Archives-All Out On May Day 2012: A Day Of International Working Class Solidarity Actions- An Open Letter To The Working People Of Boston From A Fellow Worker

 

 

All Out For May 1st-International Workers Day 2012!

Why Working People Need To Show Their Power On May Day 2012

Wage cuts, long work hours, steep consumer price rises, unemployment, small or no pensions, little or no paid vacation time, plenty of poor and inadequate housing, homelessness, and wide-spread sicknesses as a result of a poor medical system or no health insurance. I will stop there although I could go on and on. Sounds familiar though, sounds like your situation or that of someone you know, right?

Words, or words like them, are taken daily from today’s global headlines. But these were also similar to the conditions our forebears faced in America back in the 1880s when this same vicious ruling class was called, and rightly so, “the robber barons,” and threatened, as one of their kind, Jay Gould, stated in a fit of candor, “to hire one half of the working class to kill the other half,” so that they could maintain their luxury in peace. That too has not changed.

What did change then is that our forebears fought back, fought back long and hard, starting with the fight connected with the heroic Haymarket Martyrs in 1886 for the eight-hour day symbolized each year by a May Day celebration of working class power. We need to reassert that claim. This May Day let us revive that tradition as we individually act around our separate grievances and strike, strike like the furies, collectively against the robber barons of the 21st century.

No question over the past several years (really decades but now it is just more public and right in our face) American working people have taken it on the chin, taken it on the chin in every possible way. Start off with massive job losses, heavy job losses in the service and manufacturing sectors (and jobs that are not coming back except as “race to the bottom” low wage, two-tier jobs dividing younger workers from older workers like at General Electric or the auto plants). Move on to paying for the seemingly never-ending bail–out of banks, other financial institutions and corporations “too big to fail,” home foreclosures and those “under water,” effective tax increases (since the rich refuse to pay, in some cases literally paying nothing, we pay). And finish up with mountains of consumer debt for everything from modern necessities to just daily get-bys, and college student loan debt as a life-time deadweight around the neck of the kids there is little to glow about in the harsh light of the “American Dream.”

Add to that the double (and triple) troubles facing immigrants, racial and ethnic minorities, and many women and the grievances voiced long ago in the Declaration of Independence seem like just so much whining. In short, it is not secret that working people have faced, are facing and, apparently, will continue to face an erosion of their material well-being for the foreseeable future something not seen by most people since the 1930s Great Depression, the time of our grandparents (or, for some of us, great-grandparents).

That is this condition will continue unless we take some lessons from those same 1930s and struggle, struggle like hell, against the ruling class that seems to have all the card decks stacked against us. Struggle like they did in places like Minneapolis, San Francisco, Toledo, Flint, and Detroit. Those labor-centered struggles demonstrated the social power of working people to hit the “economic royalists” (the name coined for the ruling class of that day by their front-man Franklin Delano Roosevelt, FDR) to shut the bosses down where it hurts- in their pocketbooks and property.

The bosses will let us rant all day, will gladly take (and throw away) all our petitions, will let us use their “free-speech” parks (up to a point as we have found out via the Occupy movement), and curse them to eternity as long as we don’t touch their production, “perks,” and profits. Moreover an inspired fight like the actions proposed for this May Day 2012 can help new generations of working people, organized, unorganized, unemployed, homeless, houseless, and just plain desperate, help themselves to get out from under. All Out On May Day 2012.

I have listed some of the problems we face now to some of our demand that should be raised every day, not just May Day. See if you agree and if you do take to the streets on May Day with us. We demand:

 

*Hands Off Our Public Worker Unions! No More Wisconsins! Hands Off All Our Unions!

* Give the unemployed work! Billions for public works projects to fix America’s broken infrastructure (bridges, roads, sewer and water systems, etc.)!

*End the endless wars- Troops And Mercenaries Out Of Afghanistan (and Iraq)!-U.S Hands Off Iran! Hands Off The World!

* Full citizenship rights for all those who made it here no matter how they got here!

* A drastic increase in the minimum wage and big wage increases for all workers!

* A moratorium on home foreclosures! No evictions!

* A moratorium on student loan debt! Free, quality higher education for all! Create 100, 200, many publicly-supported Harvards!

*No increases in public transportation fares! No transportation worker lay-offs! For free quality public transportation!

To order to flex our collective bottom up power on May 1, 2012 we will be organizing a wide-ranging series of mass collective participatory actions:

*We will be organizing within our unions- or informal workplace organizations where there is no union - a one-day strike around some, or all, of the above-mentioned demands.

*We will be organizing at workplaces where a strike is not possible for workers to call in sick, or take a personal day, as part of a coordinated “sick-out”.

*We will be organizing students from kindergarten to graduate school and the off-hand left-wing think tank to walk-out of their schools (or not show up in the first place), set up campus picket lines, and to rally at a central location.

*We will be calling in our communities for a mass consumer boycott, and with local business support where possible, refuse to make purchases on that day.

All out on May Day 2012.

 

*************

 

It was still raining, raining hard, when old-time Cambridge radical and political organizer Frank Jackman got to the underground parking facility at the corner of Franklin and Congress Streets near the State Street Bank at about 7:00 AM on May Day 2012. The reason why Frank was at that locale at that time was that as one who had helped organize the May Day protests that year he had volunteered to bring the various materials, signs, sound equipment, food and such that would be needed by the gathering troops that day. Since he was one of the few organizers or supporters who had an automobile large enough to fit all the materials in he was the natural choice. He had gotten up a couple of hours earlier to make sure the materials were packed and ready to move.

 

As Frank walked up the stairs to start to walk the couple of blocks from the garage to the bank he thought about the reasoning behind the organizing committee’s agreement that the State Street Bank and its nefarious doings in the financial crisis of 2008 should be highlighted by the protest actions that day. The group had spent some time and energy at its weekly meetings discussing the best possible target and the one that would draw the most media attention to what the Occupy Wall Street movement was calling for that day. Actions to stop business as usual on the international workers holiday. The idea this day in Boston was to attempt by main force to block off the entire bank and then court probable arrest if necessary in order to keep the bank closed for as long  as possible. Realistically Frank thought the site could be held for a couple of hours although all their leaflets, flyers, and on-line networking materials stated the times to be 7:00 AM to noon.   

 

Frank had been a little leery about the project especially when a couple of black and red anarchists wanted to chain themselves to the main door of the bank as some symbolic act but the overall scheme sounded fair enough. Such actions, such shutdowns, had successfully occurred before and had had a good media effect. Frank, however, was not naïve enough at his age to think they could hold out for a long period. As a veteran of the May Day action down in Washington, D.C. in 1971 when they tried to shut down the entire government and took nothing but thousands of arrests for their efforts he was always cautious in his expectations for any given action although the hoopla over this General Strike call had made him more optimistic. Still to think that they could hold the bank with its many entrances against a strong police presence for long with the thousand or so people who had signed up on one of the social networking sites to put their bodies on the line gave him pause. As he finally entered the street level Frank did take a certain pride that the organizing committee had created some buzz around the General Strike idea they had been harping on all spring unlike the tepid responses on several previous May Day actions.  

 

As Frank put up his umbrella to walk that couple of blocks to get some help with the materials in his car another deluge of rain hit him, a rain that continued on until he reached the planned meeting point on the corner of Franklin and Congress. As he approached the area he was delighted to see several now well-known media vans ready to film the action. He was however a little suspicious that there was not a large open police presence as he arrived at his destination. He figured that, as on other occasions in Boston, the main force was being held in reserve and in the ready in some of the back streets. To his greater surprise at a few minutes after seven he counted only fifteen people ready to rally at that meeting point. That number would swell to no more than fifty over the next two or three hours that they held forth there. And as the rains continued throughout the morning Frank was certainly disheartened by the turn-out. They held an impromptu rally and march through some streets for effect but with no media coverage since all those glorious vans had taken off before 8:00 AM for as one reporter said “real news” it flagged considerable. Frank Jackman, an old-time political organizer from the school where you actually physically gathered people to plan and participant in actions, had just gotten his first taste of the limits of “social network” organizing in America. 

A View From The Left-Democrats Pushed Mass Incarceration-Bill Clinton Lashes Out at Black Protesters

Workers Vanguard No. 1088
22 April 2016
 
Democrats Pushed Mass Incarceration-Bill Clinton Lashes Out at Black Protesters

In Philadelphia on April 7, some Black Lives Matter protesters confronted Bill Clinton over his racist policies that have inflicted lifelong suffering on poor and oppressed black people as a result of mass incarceration. Clinton’s subsequent tirade against “black on black” crime was aimed at not only the black and anti-racist youth present, but also at any opponent of racist capitalist order. He mounted a vigorous defense of his policies as president. The New York Times (9 April) reported on Clinton’s diatribe: “‘I don’t know how you would characterize gang leaders who got 13-year-old kids hopped up on crack and sent them out on the street to murder other African-American children,’ an animated Mr. Clinton said, waving a finger. ‘Maybe you thought they were good citizens. She didn’t,’ he said of Mrs. Clinton.”
Evoking the spectre of neighborhoods of black demons running amok, Clinton’s racist garbage was designed to target those standing up to cop terror (the main source of violence against poor black people), notwithstanding real fears of violence in the ghettos and barrios, born of desperate conditions and hopelessness. Clinton’s ranting was to conceal the systematic racist oppression that has thrown thousands of black and Latino youth into total destitution and despair—and his huge contributions to that. On top of this, he contemptuously dismissed the protesters as showing up to just get their faces on TV. Clinton’s arrogant, unbridled racist contempt is despicable.
These young protesters are one big distraction for Bill/Hillary Clinton and their beloved “liberal” supporters spanning from the Congressional Black Caucus to bourgeois feminists to Wall Street. Nothing is more important to all of them than getting another Democrat in the White House to continue murderous imperialist aggression abroad and vicious austerity at home.
From a “progressive” capitalist perspective, the Democrats figure they’ve already got most of the black vote locked in place, so now they perhaps can gamble on a few strategic moves to “let Bill be Bill.” Even if Clinton had “lost it” or even “apologized,” with some manufactured tears, and a pained look added to the mix, it would all be a pretense and more crap, no less than that of the proven mythical epidemic of crack babies (see “‘Crack Babies’ Furor Was Big Lie—Down With Racist ‘War on Drugs’!” WV No. 933, 27 March 2009).
What we see is a division of labor: Hillary pouring out her “love” for black people and hubby Bill slapping them upside the head at the appropriate time to show white racists that the Clintons will keep on being tough on black people.
A similar “signaling” to the racists was done by Clinton during his run for the presidency in 1992. Many people remember the Rainbow Coalition conference that June when he attacked black rap artist Sister Souljah (today an author) as being supposedly anti-white in order to embarrass Jesse Jackson, then the leading black figure in the Democratic Party. The “man from Hope,” Arkansas, thinks he can keep black people in their “place”—except when he can’t, which was the case with the Black Lives Matter youth in Philadelphia.
How Clinton got to be a “brother” or America’s “first black president”—mainly for an older generation of black capitalist politicians, celebrities, petty-bourgeois entrepreneurs, etc.—flowed from his social interactions and some appointments to his cabinet of a few black people. Meanwhile, thousands were shoved into hellhole prisons as a result of his ratcheting up of the “war on drugs.”
Given how the capitalists lie, cheat, steal and kill to perpetuate their obsolete, anarchic profit system, it’s necessary to foresee and prepare for their assaults. The burning question of the moment is: How do we go forward in forging our party, a multiracial revolutionary workers party fighting on behalf of all the oppressed and exploited? That is what the Marxist Spartacist League, since its inception over 50 years ago, has been consistently fighting to build.
As part of this preparation we combat illusions in the benevolence of the ruling class and their parties under this decaying capitalist system, which impoverishes and murders the oppressed and exploited here and throughout the world. President Obama, Chicago mayor Rahm Emanuel and the Clintons are in the same party—the capitalist Democratic Party, the historic party of slavery. Not to mention current Democratic presidential aspirant Bernie Sanders, who notably also voted for Clinton’s 1994 omnibus crime bill. Each covers for the other.
In the face of any serious struggle that threatens to go outside the bounds of capitalism, the ruling class will unite to contain and repress such struggle. The road forward is not to “pressure” the oppressors to reorder their priorities. The profit-bloated capitalists’ only priorities are to forcibly hold down workers and the oppressed.
It is vital to mobilize the only class in society that has the social power and the interest in smashing all forms of oppression: the workers at the point of production, the producers of profits for the exploiters. Black workers will be a crucial component of the vanguard leadership of the struggles of all those trampled by this system. They are a key unionized part of the labor movement and, organized in a revolutionary workers party, are slated to play an exceptional role in an American workers revolution.
In this brutal racist capitalist system—a dictatorship of the rich—black people have historically been the recipients of extra special oppression. Anti-black racism is a weapon of the exploiters to keep the working class divided and weak. The tiny group of fabulously wealthy capitalists feasts on these divisions. To break its chains, the multiracial labor movement, including white workers, has a giant stake in combating black oppression to overcome divisions fostered by the capitalists and their various mouthpieces. Labor is weakened even further when its natural allies in the ghettos and barrios stand alone in battling for their rights. The primary responsibility for this state of affairs lies with the pro-capitalist labor leaders who have for decades tied labor to its class enemies.
Overturning capitalist rule will be an arduous task. It took a series of tumultuous struggles to finally get rid of black chattel slavery. It ultimately required a civil war—a social revolution—to eradicate slavery and, to the bitter end, the slaveholders and their apologists proclaimed that their rule was divinely ordered. The capitalists today believe something equivalent to the slaveholding class they replaced.
Our class won its greatest victory when the Bolshevik-led 1917 October Revolution—the only successful workers revolution in history—proved that the capitalists are not invincible! Following decades of betrayals by the anti-internationalist, anti-Marxist Stalinist leadership in the former USSR, capitalism was restored in 1991-92. We uniquely fought that. These and many other vital questions and lessons must be studied and assimilated to go forward.
As long as the capitalist system exists, the possessing class will pit different sections of the oppressed against each other. That’s why the fight for black liberation through socialist revolution is bound up with the struggle to emancipate the working class from capitalist exploitation. There are common interests between exploited workers and oppressed minorities—from the need for quality, low-cost, integrated housing and free education to jobs for all. Militant multiracial class struggle can break down seemingly permanent divisions. A fighting Leninist vanguard party acting as a tribune of the people will lead these struggles to the overthrow of capitalism.
A socialist revolution (and we’re not talking about Sanders’s “political revolution” to put lipstick on a pig) will rip the power and wealth out of the hands of the capitalist exploiters. Those who labor must rule! Capitalism cannot be reformed.
Don’t believe the myth of the harmony of interests between the oppressed and their oppressors. This lie is spouted by charlatans including the labor fakers and various “socialists” backing Sanders, all of whom hiss and sneer at our revolutionary program calling for workers socialist revolution. A workers government, a workers America, will be a big step toward putting an end worldwide to the last class-divided, barbaric society in history: capitalism. Black oppression will be uprooted with it. Then we will have the resources to begin to create living conditions worthy of human beings.

President Obama Free Oscar Lopez Rivera -Sign The Petition

President Obama Free Oscar Lopez Rivera -Sign The Petition


*****Okay, Rosalie Sorrels Have You Seen Starlight On The Rails

*****Okay, Rosalie Sorrels Have You Seen Starlight On The Rails

 

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman


Okay, Rosalie Sorrels Have You Seen Starlight On The Rails

 

 

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

Every hobo, tramp, and bum and there are known social distinctions long recognized among the brethren even if with a touch of envy by those not among the elect although the general population, you know, the honest citizenry who make the rules against vagrancy and pay the enforcers to keep the riffraff out of their towns called the whole heap nothing but bums knows the road is hard, but that is the road they have chosen, or had chosen for them by their whole freaking life choices. Despite the claims of oneness for the whole heap of bummery by those honest citizens of small town America (or these days the world) where the fear exists every really honest person, even every thoughtful amateur sociologist should know that among the wandering tribes the hobos, “the kings and queens of the transient peoples,” are merely migrant or walking through the land rucksack on the back day laborer-type worker, what Oswald Spengler and Jack Kerouac called the fellahin, the outcasts, who has not forgotten the dignity of labor, just not for him (or occasionally her) the nine to five grind and such brethren can be found out back in many a restaurant throughout the land especially at diners and truck shop eateries “diving for pearls, working,” working as dishwashers.

Every hobo has some problem, usually some Phoebe Snow problem, a woman problem, that forced him or her on the road (I don’t know what it would be for the distaff side so call him Jack Snow, any other sexual combination more acceptable today although definitely not unknown in the male-heavy “jungle camps” along the transcontinental railroad lines). That Phoebe Snow designation from some old time railroad advertisement when they finally figured how to keep their respectable passengers from looking like coalminers after alighting from a train by changing the way the engine was maneuvered and to express that new found discovery they had a virginal young woman in white getting on their trains ready for every civilized adventure in some faraway place (or maybe an illicit tryst but we will ask no questions). And so many a campfire night as the trains went westbound, or wherever bound, you would find many a man, maybe in his cups just then, dreaming back to their own Phoebes and wondering damn why they ever left Peoria, Lima, Scranton and that white dress with flowers in her hair standing in the wind. So, make no mistake, fear of work is not what drove the hobo out on to the roads.

See that royalty, the hobo, and his or her ability to work is why the Industrial Worker of the World (IWW, Wobblies, moniker origin unknown so Wobblies) went into the jungle camps (and gin mills too) in order to recruit labor fighters against the bosses when the deal went down, particularly in the West. (Although more famously in the great Lawrence, Massachusetts “Bread and Roses” textile strike of 1912 when they gathered in the nations of immigrants that the textile bosses recruited on the assumption that they could “divide and conquer.” Yid and gentile, Mick and Dago, Hunky and Frog, name your national derogatory moniker but didn’t they get a surprise that first morning when the nations gathered against the Wasp oligarchy.) Of course that transient work habit was also the down side of that organization as the kings of the transient road hit the road west, or somewhere, when it came to defending the unions over the long haul.

As for the other two, the tramp who only worked when forced to like on some thirty day county jailhouse for vagrancy gig or some Salvation Army work program to keep the body and soul together for a few days when whatever con, what grift was played out and the bum, Jesus, the bum wouldn’t work if he was Rockefeller himself, the dregs, winos, jack-rollers, sappers, petty crooks, mother’s purse stealers, the crippled up, sorry, and the dumb, sorry again, to put the matter plainly in the old- fashioned parlance how the hell could you organize them. You might as well try to organize air, might as well go down without a fight since they have probably already sold you out and the boss man will be waiting arms in hand, you can bet on that. There was a very good reason that the beloved heroic Paris Communards in 1871 as desperate as they were for fighters placed the placate “Death to Thieves” above the Hotel de Ville. Yeah, they had that right, don’t give the lumpen a change to breathe or he will steal your breathe just for kicks, or a jug of low-grade wine.          

Now that you are all caught up on the differences, the “class differences,” between each cohort recognized among themselves, oh how recognized, and subject to fierce dispute including some faux fists, if not quite so definitely by rump academic sociologists who lump them all together but that is a story for another day (there is some hope for the amateur versions as long as the avoid the graduate schools of social work the bane of every person on the road, and rightly so). What they do have in common since they are out in the great outdoors more than the rest of us gentile folk is that they to a person have seen starlight on the rails. Yeah, had their fill of train smoke and dreams.

Now all these sullen subtle distinctions among the brethren I probably would have not been able to draw in my youth when I would have lumped the lot together as collective losers and riff-raff, the bums to honest citizens, before I hit the hitchhike road heading west at one time in search of the blue-pink great American West night out there somewhere. Thought I found it for a minute out in Mendocino with a sweet Lorraine all long hair, long granny dress and flowers, garlands really around her neck and in her hair. Go check out a  Botticelli painting if you are near an art museum something or google up the man’s name on the Internet if you can’t wait, my own Phoebe Snow, before the hordes descended.  Thought I had it another time in a hash/opium dream outside of Monterey after the jazz festival and some dark-haired, dark laughing eyes, hot-blooded, Juanita curled my toes for a while until I fought there were seventeen burn down the country club golf course and I had not enough matches and fled. Ah, you know and man’s reach should exceed his grasp like the Jack poet said.

I had, broken dreams aside, broken but not forgotten Botticelli dreams included, on one more than one occasion along with the late Peter Paul Markin who led the way among the North Adamsville corner boys on that trail been forced to stop along a railroad trestle “jungle camp,” under a cardboard city bridge, or out in the arroyos if you got far enough west to live for a few days and rest up for the road further west.

The hobos of the “jungle” were princes among men (there was no room for women then in such a male-dominated society, not along the jungle although at the missions and Sallys, Salvation Army Harbor Lights, that might be a different story) as long as you did not ask too many damn questions. Shared olio stews, cigarettes, cheap rotgut wine, Thunderbird “what’s the word, Thunderbird, what’s the price, forty twice” and that eighty cents tough to gather some days no matter how smooth the pan-handle, or Ripple, ‘save the nipple, cripple” sorry, whichever was cheapest after cadging the day’s collective pennies together. Later, after the big dream American West busted me up when my “wanting habits” (getting many worldly goods off easy street paid for by working the drug trade down south of the border along with Markin before he became the late Markin face down in some dusty Mexican bracero fellahin town when a drug deal he was trying to finagle caught him short, two slugs to the head short by some angry hombre who didn’t like gringos messing with their trade, or their dark-haired, dark laughing-eyed, hot-blooded women) built up from the edges of that sullen youth got the better of me and my addictions placed me out in that same “jungle” for keeps for a while that distinction got re-enforced.  

But hobo, bum or tramp each had found him or herself (mainly hims though like I said out on the “jungle” roads) flat up against some railroad siding at midnight having exhausted every civilized way to spent the night. Having let their, our, collective wanting habits get the best of them, us. Maybe penniless, maybe thrown out of some flophouse in arrears and found that nobody bothers, or did bother you out along the steel rails, I won’t vouch for that now with all the weirdness in the world, when the train lost its luster to the fast speed Interstate automobile and one coast in the morning the other in the afternoon plane and rusted and abandoned railroads gone belly up, Union Pacific, SP, Denver, Rio Grande, Baltimore and Ohio, Illinois Central, all train smoke names for lack of use provided safe haven from the vagaries of civilization. So sure I too have seen with the brethren, those nameless hobos, tramps, and bums  (to you they had among themselves monikers like Railroad Shorty, Black River Red, Smokestack, Philly Jack, mine, the Be-Bop Kid although I always had to explain what the be-bop was since these guys were well behind the curve, back in Benny Goodman swing time)     the stars out where the spots are darkest and the brilliance of the sparkle makes one think of heaven for those so inclined, think of the void for the heathen among them. Has dreamed penitent dreams of shelter against life’s storms, had dreamed while living for the moment trying to get washed clean after the failure of the new dispensation to do the job (hell, what did they/Markin/me think just because the drugs or alcohol flowed freely once, just because the fixer man fixed, fixed fine, that that was the Garden of Eden, that was Nirvana, hell, those ancient forebears all after they had been expelled from the earthly paradise saw that same starlight as they/he/we/I did).   

Maybe this will explain it better. An old man, or at least he has the marks of old age, although among the iterant travelling peoples, the hoboes, tramps, and bum, who have weathered many of life’s storms bottle or needle in hand, panhandled a million quarters now lost, old age, or their marks wear a soul down early so a guy who has been on the road enough years if he is say thirty looks about fifty by the time the train smoke and the busted dreams have broken his will, white beard, unkempt, longish hair, also unkempt, a river of lines in his face, deep crow’s feet setting off his vacant eyes, a second-hand soiled hat atop his head, a third-hand miner’s jacket “clipped” off some other lonesome traveler (“clipped”- stolen for clueless or those who led sheltered childhood and did not in order to satisfy some youthful wanting habit stakeout a jewelry store say and grab a few trinkets while the salesperson was looking the other way), shredded at the cuffs chino pants of indeterminate age, and busted up shoes, soles worn, heels at forty-five degree angles from crooked walks on crooked miles and game legs is getting ready to unroll his bedroll, ground cloth a tablecloth stolen from Jimmy Jack’s Diner’s somewhere, a blanket stolen from a Sally [Salvation Army] Harbor Light house in salad days, rolled newspapers now for a mattress for the hundredth, hundredth time against the edge of the railroad trestle just outside Gallup, New Mexico.

Do not ask him, if you have the nerve to approach him, and that is an iffy proposition just ask a guy going under the moniker of Denver Shorty how he got that deep scar across his face, where he is going or where he has come from because just that moment, having scratched a few coins in the town together for a jug of Thunderbird he is ready to sleep his sleep against the cold-hearted steel of the Southern Pacific railroad tracks just ten yards from where he stands.      

And this night, this starlit brown, about eight colors of brown, desert night he hopes that he will not dream, not dream of that Phoebe Snow whom he left behind in Toledo when he had no beard, no longish unkempt hair, and no rivers of lines on his misbegotten face. (Why the brethren called every long gone sweetheart Phoebe Snow, why they would get misty over the dying campfire after some younger traveler stopped by and told his tale of leaving some young thing behind is unknown except, according to some old wizened geezer who might have just made the story up, in the old, old day when the railroads finally figured out how to keep people from being blackened by the train smoke every trip they took they started advertising this the fact with this white-dressed  virginal young woman who went under the name Phoebe Snow. That’s probably as good an explanation as any since whatever the name, or the young woman almost every guy in camp would in his sorrows get weepy about that situation. Hey, didn't I tell that story before, Jesus, the dope or old age is getting to me but what the hell maybe that Phoebe Snow dream is worth a repeat I know it got me through many a restless night thinking about sweet Botticelli Lorraine and Goya Juanita.) Dream as he always did about whatever madness made him run from all the things he had created, all the things that drove him west like a million other guys who needed to put space between himself and civilization.

Dream too about the days when he could ride the rails in the first-class cars (having not only left Phoebe Snow behind but a growing specialty printing business started from scratch before the alcohol, and later the dope although now back to cheapjack alcohol got the better of him), and about the lure of the rails once he got unhinged from civilization. About how the train pace had been chastised by fast cars and faster planes when a the speed of a train fitted a man’s movements, about the days when they first built the transcontinental, this line that he was about to lie his head down beside, about the million Chinks, Hunkies, Russkies, Hibernians, hell, Micks, Dagos who sweated to drive the steel in unforgiving ground, many who laid down their heads down to their final rest along these roads, and later guys he knew on the endless road like Butte Bobby, Silver Jones, Ding-dong Kelly, who did not wake up the next morning and were carried out to the carcass vulture desert having left no way to get a hold of kin. Almost all guys had left no forwarding address, no real one anyway, no back address, for fear of the repo man or some other dunning, an angry wife or about ten thousand other reasons. So the desert was good enough as a potter’s field as any other place.

As he settled in to sleep the wine’s effect settling down too he noticed the bright half- moon out that night reflecting off the trestle, and the arroyos edges, and thought about what a guy, an old wizard like himself told him about the rails one time when he was laid up in Salt Lake City, in the days when he tried to sober up. The guy, a guy who had music in his soul or something said to him that it was the starlight on the rails that had driven him, rumble, stumble, tumble him to keep on the road, to keep moving away from himself, to forget who he was. And here he was on a starlit night listening down the line for the rumble of the freight that would come passing by before the night was over. But as he shut his eyes, he began to dream again of Phoebe Snow, always of Phoebe Snow.         

But not everybody has the ability to sing to those starlit heavens (or to the void if that is what chances to happen as the universe expands quicker than we can think, bang- bang or get smaller into dust if that is the deal once the philosopher-king physicists figure out the new best theory) about the hard night of starlight on the rails and that is where Rosalie Sorrels, a woman of the American West out in the Idahos, out where, as is said in the introduction to the song by the same name ripping some wisdom from literary man Thomas Wolfe who knew from whence he spoke, the states are square (and at one time the people, travelling west people and so inured to hardship, played it square, or else), sings old crusty Utah Phillips’ song to those hobo, tramp, bum heavens. Did it while old Utah was alive to teach the song (and the story behind the song) to her and later after he passed on in a singular tribute album to his life’s work as singer/songwriter/story-teller/ troubadour.         

Now, for a fact, I do not know if Rosalie in her time, her early struggling time when she was trying to make a living singing and telling Western childhood stories had ever along with her brood of kids been reduced by circumstances to wind up against that endless steel highway but I do know that she had her share of hard times. Know that through her friendship with Utah she wound up bus-ridden to Saratoga Springs up in the un-squared state of New York where she performed and got taken under the wing of Lena from the legendary Café Lena during some trying times. And so she flourished, flourished as well as any folk-singer could once the folk minute burst it bubble and places like Café Lena, Club Passim (formerly Club 47), a few places in the Village in New York City and Frisco town became safe havens to flower and grow some songs, grow songs from the American folk songbooks and from her own expansive political commentator songbook. And some covers too as her rendition of Starlight on the Rails attests to as she worked her way across the continent.

Worked her way to a big sold out night at Saunders Theater at Harvard too when she called the road quits a decade or so ago. Sang some nice stuff speaking about the west, about the Brazos, about the great Utah desert which formed Utah Phillips a little too, formed him like his old friend Ammon Hennessey, the old saint Catholic Worker brother who sobered some guys up, made them take some pledges, made them get off the railroad steel road. Sobered me up too, got me off that railroad track too, but damn if I didn’t see that starlight too. So listen up, okay.         

In Boston May 21, 2016-Chelsea Manning Stand-Out-Six Years Is Enough-More Than Enough-Free Chelsea Now!

In Boston May 21, 2016-Chelsea Manning Stand-Out-Six Years Is Enough-More Than Enough-Free Chelsea Now!